Bernard Bloodworth believes he is a vampire.Unfortunately, he is also a very ordinary accountant from Horsforth.By day, Bernard runs a small but respectable firm, worries about HMRC audits, and corrects people when they forget to say "Ltd" at the end of his company name. By night, he wears a cape, practises rituals in his living room, and chairs meetings of the British Society of Vampiric Enthusiasts and Familiars - a group made up of bus drivers, hairdressers, teachers, retirees, and one deeply unimpressed cat.At first, Bernard's delusion is mostly harmless: a coping mechanism built from costumes, paperwork, and the comforting belief that being special might make loneliness easier to manage. But when the BSVEF is invited to assist with a national gathering at the Leeds Armouries, things stop being pretend. A real power begins moving through the organisation - quiet, polite, terrifyingly calm - and it has no interest in cosplay.What follows is not a battle of spells or secret prophecies, but a struggle over systems, access, and obedience. Doors. Corridors. Lanyards. Incident forms. Who is allowed to stand where, and who is expected to comply without question. Bernard discovers that the skills he has always dismissed - administration, procedure, witness logs, boring competence - may be the only tools capable of resisting something far older and far more dangerous than him.This is a darkly comic, sharply observed story about authority, belief, and how control really works. It is set entirely in recognisable, contemporary Leeds: suburban streets, takeaways, offices, meeting rooms, and public institutions that do not care how dramatic you feel. There are no invented fantasy worlds, no epic destinies, and no easy victories - only the slow collapse of a fantasy and the difficult choice to be decent instead of special.Bernard Bloodworth is written for readers aged 10-14, but trusts them completely. It is funny without being silly, unsettling without being frightening, and grounded in the ordinary details that make power believable. Fans of oddball British humour, deadpan satire, and stories where bureaucracy beats bravado will find something quietly sharp hiding beneath the cape.